


The Wings of Deviance

by faeryghost



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Queer Character, Queer Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28631253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeryghost/pseuds/faeryghost
Summary: In the world of Attack On Titan, what would it be like to live as a queer person?What are the politics and laws that surround queerness within humanity's Walls, and how do queer individuals go about their daily lives? Is love even a possibility when there's no escape from the society that binds you?Just before Trost District was breached by the Titans, a young man named Sylvan moved to Ehrmich District to work as a painter.Due to circumstances beyond his control, he's been forced to work at a brewery in a poorer part of the city. He lives a repetitive and monotonous life; the only thing quelling his loneliness is the occasional letter from his cousin in the 104th Cadet Corps.However, the monotony of his routine is interrupted when he encounters an enigmatic singer, a bartender with a secret, and a staircase that leads deep underground.(Anime spoilers up to the end of season 3 part 2)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	1. Portrait

As the sun set behind Wall Rose, the sky blushed, casting off the last of its blue in preparation for the night. The warm summer wind frolicked across a field of barley, generating waves of gold that danced in the eyes of a young farmer boy, watching the scenery with content. After a long day of working the field, the boy often enjoyed sitting atop a small silo to relax before heading inside for the evening. He shut his eyes, smelling the sweet breeze as it swept through his hair, dark brown and unkempt. Suddenly, he felt a light pressure. He looked down to see someone’s hand resting tenderly atop his own. Despite the rugged appearance of the stranger’s hand, it felt gentle and warm. His gaze returned to the landscape, only to find himself surrounded by water. Azure waves glistened in the sunlight, and once his surprise subsided, the boy let out a sigh of relief.

“No more walls,” the boy whispered, though he wasn’t referring to Maria, Rose, or Sina. He upturned his hand, and locked his fingers with the person sitting next to him on the Silo.

Before he could get a good look at the stranger, Sylvan awoke in his bedroom. He stared at his wooden ceiling with quiet confusion before finally gathering his thoughts. Getting out of bed with a grunt, Sylvan reflected on his dream. His mind had transported him back to his old workplace: a barley farm located between Rose and Sina. He missed the views offered by the countryside, that was for sure. Before moving to Ehrmich District, he hadn’t considered just how much the tall buildings and the surrounding wall would obstruct the sky.

Of course, pleasant vistas weren’t exactly his main priority. He began planning his move to Ehrmich five years ago after hearing about how the Titans had broken through Wall Maria. Thankfully, he’d already found a small apartment in the city by the time Trost District was breached, which saved him a lot of stress at the time. But, well, now Sylvan knew that nowhere on Earth was exempt from the wrath of the Titans.

On this Wednesday afternoon, as the man made his regular trek to work, he thought about what he’d recently seen in the Berg Newspapers. Allegedly, the military had found a way to create an artificial Titan of sorts that could fight for humanity. Naturally, these reports had sewn anxiety and suspicion among many, while inspiring hope and optimism in others. Sylvan’s reaction aligned more closely with the skeptics, mainly because he worried for his younger cousin in the 104th Cadet Corps.

Arriving at the brewery, Sylvan’s boss immediately began barking orders. “Pour that bucket of malt into the tun, will ya?!”

Sylvan adjusted his overalls, then lifted the bucket with a huff. Pouring the grain into the water, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d never escape working with barley. Though the fields had been nice to look at at times, they weren’t as pretty in real life as they were in his dreams. He’d spent far too many years working with the crop in the countryside, and had grown quite sick of it. Prior to his move, Sylvan had hoped to work as a freelance painter and make a pretty penny selling his skills to wealthy aristocrats. Turned out that favouritism was rampant, however, and most nobles only hired those with high status to paint.

Despite this setback, Sylvan had tried advertising his skills to his newfound community. He would come to realize, though, that the residents of his lower class neighbourhood were not willing to pay for such a non-essential service. As his funds dwindled, Sylvan resorted to taking the first job offered to him in order to pay rent, so the brewery became his new workplace.

His daily life seemed to grow more monotonous as his dreams dulled, sweating for hours at the brewery just measuring, pouring, churning, boiling, waiting, filtering, and bearing through it all. He would return home exhausted, and by the time he made dinner, he barely had the energy to paint. Sometimes he would receive a letter from his cousin, which would inspire Sylvan to lift a brush, but these bursts of inspiration were fleeting and unfulfilling.

He was thankful that his work days were often busy, so they went by rather quickly. Today especially, he felt as if he’d arrived only moments ago, but the sky had darkened and his shift was done. He had changed out of his overalls and was almost out the door when Sylvan was stopped by his boss.

“Sylvan!” he called in his aged, raspy voice. “Damned courier forgot part of a shipment. Mind running it over to the pub that ordered it? Isn’t too far from here.”

The young man ran his fingers through his perpetually messy hair in an attempt to quell his agitation. “Sure thing,” replied Sylvan.

The boss ended up being right; the pub was only around a ten minute walk from the brewery. Carrying a small box of beer, Sylvan arrived outside the pub. It was surprisingly big for this part of town, but still quaint and plain-looking.

Upon entering the dimly lit establishment, Sylvan expected to be overwhelmed by the sounds of drunken merrymaking, but the pub was surprisingly tranquil. In fact, he only heard one voice, and it felt like silk to his ears. He looked to the source of the noise, and saw a man standing poised next to a guitarist. The man had long blond hair, tied up in a ponytail. He was slender, tall, and exuded confidence.

The guitarist strummed a lovely chord, and the blond man resumed his vocal performance. Though he seemed to be around thirty years old, the singer’s voice betrayed his somewhat weathered visage, sounding surprisingly youthful, radiant, and smooth.

Sylvan snapped out of his trance and remembered what he came here to do. He spotted a bartender standing with his back turned, and quietly made his way over, doing his best not to disrupt the performance. He approached the bar, and gently set the box of beer on the countertop, waiting to catch the bartender’s attention. As the song came to a close, the patrons began to clap and cheer, and the bartender at last turned to face Sylvan.

Sylvan’s heart made itself known to his chest. 

Seeing the bartender’s face was like arriving home after a long day. Looking into his cobalt eyes was like being blessed with rain after a drought. Admiring his jawline was like appreciating a finely crafted blade. Taking in his honey-coloured hair was like stumbling upon a field of...barley? (Dammit!) And hearing his voice was like finding a blanket on a chilly winter’s night.

“What can I get for you?”

Sylvan felt his cheeks grow warm; he had to hurry. “Oh nothing for me thanks just delivering a shipment since the courier left it behind at our brewery by accident and they sent me to deliver it even though that isn’t my job but please don’t think I’m holding a grudge or anything I don’t really do grudges plus this is a really nice pub so it was worth the trip I guess but I’m tired after a long day of work so I think I’ll be taking my leave but thank you for offering a drink even though that’s your job assuming you’re a bartender which judging by the vest and bowtie I’d say you are but looks can be deceiving!”

The bartender blinked.

“Have a good night!” Sylvan said, bolting out of the pub.

The young man raced home, practically glowing pink in the night. Bursting into his apartment at around ten o’clock in the evening, he hastily set up his easel, grabbed the nearest chair, and readied his paint. 

Sylvan stayed up for hours painting a portrait of the bartender.


	2. Disillusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After failing to ignore his feelings, Sylvan revisits the pub and is dissapointed with what he finds there.
> 
> His drinkining leads him to discover that something is hiding below the city of Ehrmich.

Sylvan was nearly late for his shift the next day. He awoke in his chair with an aching neck and a numb behind. Once he had finally forced his eyes open, he noticed the time and dashed to the brewery, wearing the same clothes from the day before.

Narrowly avoiding a lecture from his boss, Sylvan changed into his overalls and got straight to work. Though he was quite tired, he pushed himself to work as hard as he could. With each drop of sweat, he built a wall around his heart. The more he strained, the more fortified the walls became. Sylvan measured out the appropriate amount of hops for the kettle, and then set four of them aside. He assigned a feature to each: one for the bartender’s dreamy eyes, one for his sharp jaw, one for his perfectly quaffed hair, and one for his calming voice. As he added the flowers to the kettle, he vowed to forget the trait that each one represented. Then he added the rest of the hops for insurance.

As his shift came to an end, Sylvan maintained a razor focus. The only thing on his mind was going home to rest. As he walked down the streets of his lower-class neighbourhood, Sylvan did not allow his mind to wander. He stared straight ahead and thought only of sleep. The man entered his apartment, took off his shoes, and began to feel very drowsy. With a yawn, he made for his bed, only to be stopped in his tracks at the sight of his artwork.

Sylvan was in such a rush that morning that he hadn’t even glanced at his finished piece. As he scanned the canvas of the painting, his heart grew large enough to peek over the walls he’d built around it.

“Oh no,” he said to himself. “That’s a problem.”

The next day, Sylvan slept in. He had been blessed with some time off and planned to enjoy it. After finally getting out of bed, he cooked a light brunch and made a small shopping list. He couldn’t afford much, but every now and then he saved enough money to treat himself. That day, he planned to visit a stylish clothing shop in one of the upper-middle-class neighbourhoods of Ehrmich after finishing his errands. Once his meal had settled, he donned his finer clothes and went out to face the day, but not before turning his painting towards the wall. He couldn’t risk being surprised by it again.

After purchasing groceries and other essentials, Sylvan strut his way towards the wealthier neighbourhood. It always struck him how the class divisions were made apparent by the architecture of the city. As soon as the buildings around him featured more stone than wood, he knew he was getting close. The young man emerged into a market square and took it all in. There was a small fountain serving as the centrepiece, surrounded by a circular garden and a few benches. Families wandered about, chit chatting and indulging in their carefree Friday. The smell of fresh pastries tempted Sylvan’s palate and saliva began to pool in his mouth, but he shook his head in defiance of his senses.

_ No _ , Sylvan thought to himself,  _ I will not be seduced by baked goods. Today, my money is for fashion and fashion only! If I can make myself feel more handsome than that bartender, then I won’t feel compelled to see him. This is the only solution. _

“Maria will not be the only Wall to fall!”

Sylvan turned his head to see a man standing on a bench a short distance away from the square. He had attracted a small crowd.

“If we continue to drown in sin, Rose will be next, and then Sina soon after. The Walls are watching and they’re listening. The day will soon come when they cast judgement on humanity! Will they continue to protect us for another hundred years, or will they condemn us to the bellies of the Titans?!”

Sylvan looked closer. The man was wearing a black robe and a lavish gold necklace. The necklace had three pendants strung together, side by side, each representing one of the Walls. Evidently, he was a minister with the Order.

“Several days ago, Rose cast her judgement on Trost District. She is not the one at fault, for it is the sins of humankind that weakened her. Ehrmich District is no different. The military continues to taint the purity of the Walls, while the liars and criminals of the slums further threaten our safety!”

Sylvan began to walk away, wanting to get on with his day.

“But even if we deal with these heretics, our protection is not guaranteed, for they are not the sole proprietors of our doom.  _ Deviants _ have infiltrated every corner of our society; one could even be standing next to you at this very moment, plotting to steal the innocence of our children and corrupt the foundation of society! Beware of men who disguise themselves as women and beware of those who cast lustful gazes upon their own sex! My people! We must band together in faith and pressure our government to act now! The current laws are not enough to weed out the deviants in time to save us! But fear not. Our love for the divine protectors will be the glorious light that drives away the darkness. The Walls must not be tampered with by mortals any longer!”

Sylvan didn’t stick around to hear more and he no longer felt the desire to shop. He just wanted to go home.

On Saturday, after his shift, Sylvan found himself in front of the pub from the other day. It seemed as though his legs had carried him there without him being aware of it. He took a moment to draw a breath, then made his way inside.

He was surprised to find that the pub had a much different energy than his first visit. It felt more or less like any old pub this time around. Various men and women sat around tables drinking beer, giggling or arguing until their faces turned red. The dim lighting, which seemed so romantic that fateful night, now revealed itself to be a symptom of sparse, low-quality candles. Sylvan realized what was missing: the music. The singer with the silken voice and his guitarist were nowhere to be found. 

Sylvan approached the bar and immediately locked eyes with the bartender. It was the same man from the other night. To Sylvan’s surprise, his heart barely jumped.

“The chatterbox from Wednesday!” exclaimed the bartender, walking over to Sylvan. “Here for a drink this time around?”

Hmm. This couldn’t be right. The man’s eyes weren’t cobalt, just blue. His hair wasn’t honey-coloured, just dirty blond. And his voice wasn’t warm, it was room temperature.

“Ummmm...beer, please,” requested Sylvan.

As the man prepared his drink, Sylvan sat stumped on a barstool. 

_ He’s still attractive _ , Sylvan thought,  _ but he’s not...jaw-dropping. What happened between then and now? Was it the atmosphere the first time around? Did it enhance his looks and charm? Was the song some kind of spell? _

“Here you go, buddy,” said the bartender, passing Sylvan his drink.

He took a sip and pretended not to hate the taste. As the bartender went on to serve other patrons, Sylvan eyed him covertly.

_ Oh _ , he thought,  _ I know now.  _ Sylvan took a long chug of his beer.  _ I painted a fantasy. _

Three beers later, Sylvan acknowledged that he may have become intoxicated. At that point, though, he didn’t care. He felt cozy. Cozy is nice. Nice is good.

“When I saw you walk in,” started the bartender, cleaning a glass, “I figured you were gonna talk my ear off.”

Sylvan ran his finger around the edge of his drink. “I guess I don’t have much to say right now.”

“That’s alright, you don’t need to force yourself,” said the bartender. “The pub’s getting quiet, so I just thought it might be nice to have a chatterbox around.”

Sylvan looked up to see if the bartender was making fun of him, but he was smiling politely. “Uhh, I don’t know what to say!” Sylvan chuckled awkwardly.

“No problem, I’ll start then! My name’s Rio Beckett. I work the bar most nights here in the not-so-pretty part of Ehrmich. I was born in a village to the east of the Industrial City and moved here for a better life when I was sixteen. Now a humble twenty year old, I spend my days tending to the needs of the beautiful people who stroll in here seeking some respite.”

“...Do you rehearse that?”

“Not intentionally, I just introduce myself a lot while working here.”

“Makes sense.” Sylvan laughed at nothing in particular. “Oh, um, my name is Sylvan. I’m eighteen and I was a farmer for a bit and now I’m here.”

“Such a succinct origin story! Did you like being a farmer?”

“I didn’t hate it. It was nice to feel like I was contributing to society, I guess, but it got repetitive after a while.”

Rio leaned on the counter, showing genuine interest in his patron’s story. “Repetitive, huh? How long were you farming for? Were you always working at the same farm?”

“Yes, it was the same farm. I worked there for five years.”

Rio’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, but that’d mean you started working there at thirteen! That’s quite young!”

Sylvan answered quickly. “Is it? My cousin joined the Cadet Corps at twelve.”

“That’s a good point,” said Rio, remembering that the military started training soldiers from a young age. Tragic, really. “Guess I’m just surprised you were able to stick to one place for so long.”

Sylvan smiled, recalling bittersweet memories. “I guess I’m just a simple person. The views of the countryside were enough to keep me happy for a long time. I got my ass in gear when the Titans got through Wall Maria, though.”

“Didn’t we all,” Rio added, solemnly.

Sylvan realized that he’d been talking about nothing but himself for a while now. Damn alcohol, making him forget his manners! “Have you ever been to the countryside?”

“M-Me? No, not really. The villages around the Industrial City are less umm, what’s the word? Hmmm...no, I’ve lost it. But they don’t sound like what you’re describing, I think. Lots of smog and stuff if that makes sense.” Rio seemed caught off guard.

“Oh, like, the air is bad? I don’t know a whole lot about the Industrial City,” Sylvan admitted.

“Well yeah, information on it is very hush-hush since the military doesn’t want anyone finding out too much about how they make their weapons. Even though I worked there for years, I still don’t know a whole lot, myself. It’s pretty high security so I preferred to just get in, purify the steel, and get out.”

“That’s so interesting! It sounds like a whole other world…” Sylvan paused. “Sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No! Quite the contrary actually. It’s just that I’m much more used to being the one asking the questions. Most drunk people love to talk about themselves for ages. Helps me pass the time, but I guess that’s made me a bit rusty at answering questions myself!”

“Ah!” Sylvan exclaimed. “Sorry for making your job more challenging.”

Rio chuckled lightly. “It’s a nice change of pace.” Suddenly, he straightened up like he just remembered something. “It’s been nice, but I have somewhere to be! My shift ends early on Saturdays.”

“Oh, no worries. Thanks for the conversation!”

“You too!” Rio shouted as he went into the staff area.

As soon as Rio was gone, another bartender emerged from the staff room to take his place. Sylvan ordered two more drinks before deciding to head home.

He stumbled slowly in the direction of his apartment, guided only by the moonlight and the glow of candles pouring out of surrounding buildings. Sylvan felt dizzy and disappointed, a combination which made for a difficult walk home. Despite this, he couldn’t help but laugh every few steps.  _ Sylvan, you truly are a master of self-sabotage. What an embarrassing series of events. Time to suppress it all! _

“Stop right there,” said someone, placing a firm grip on Sylvan’s shoulder.

Sylvan turned to see a man of large stature wearing a military uniform. Judging from the symbol on the shoulder of his jacket, the man was clearly a member of the Military Police Regiment. Another officer was standing behind him with a severe expression.

“What are you doing wandering around intoxicated in this area? Don’t you know that sexual deviants prowl along this very street at night?”

Sylvan was frozen with fear and confusion. “I, I wasn’t aware of-”

“Oh really?” The officer interrupted. “Or could it be that you’re here  _ because _ of this street’s reputation? Looking to get some late night action, eh? You must be aware that acts of deviance are a criminal offence?”

“I s-swear I didn’t, I mean, I wasn’t,” Sylvan began to tremble, “I’m just trying to go home.”

The officer stared him down, then burst out laughing, startling Sylvan. The young man stood confused, still in the officer’s grip.

The other officer spoke up. “Have you had your fun, Lance? Did you get your kicks teasing the drunk boy?”

“Yes!” proclaimed Lance with glee. “It never gets old!” Lance took his hand off of Sylvan’s shoulder. “I hope you learned a valuable lesson today, boy. If this really were one of the bad streets, you could have been in a lot of trouble. Always make sure you have a secure route home, especially after a night of drinking. Stay safe!”

The officers walked on, continuing their patrol.

Sylvan ran. As far away from the officers as possible. He fell a few times, got up, and kept running. He ran as fast as he could and as far as he could, turning down whichever alleyways seemed to provide the most cover. He ran until the fear subsided enough for him to feel ashamed. And then he sat down, leaning his back against the wall of some random alleyway. He put his head between his knees and he wept. He cried until he was numb, and then he sat there feeling sorry for himself. Thank God he didn’t have work tomorrow.

After enough time had passed to regain his composure, Sylvan stood up and wiped his nose. As he began to head out of the alleyway, he saw a figure in the distance. Worried that it might be more Military Police, he hid behind a set of wooden barrels stacked in the alley. He peeked out between the barrels to assess the situation. The figure turned to look down the alleyway, but luckily Sylvan was well hidden. Sylvan looked closer and recognized the man’s luscious blond ponytail.

_ The singer from Wednesday? _ He thought to himself.  _ He looks like he doesn’t want to be followed… _

After surveying the alley to his satisfaction, the singer turned and carried on into the night. Maybe Sylvan was still scared of encountering the police on his way home, or maybe it was the alcohol, but for whatever reason, he felt compelled to follow the singer.

Sylvan tailed the singer from as far away as possible, taking great care not to be seen or heard. After following him for some time, he noticed that the singer was heading towards an older part of town. Sylvan watched from afar as the man made a sharp turn around a corner. Once he felt that it was safe enough to continue his pursuit, Sylvan turned the corner himself, and suddenly the man was nowhere to be seen.

Sylvan walked forward a few steps into the alley, foregoing any attempts at concealing his presence. He scratched his head, then looked around. The other end of the alley was too far away for the man to have already turned again. Sylvan walked forward a bit more until he noticed a large, arched tunnel in one of the alley walls. Surrounding the opening were large signs reading “danger,” “forbidden,” and “closed for public safety.”

Two large wooden planks had been criss-crossed and nailed up in a lazy attempt to prevent entry, but it wouldn’t be hard to duck beneath them and continue forward.

Sylvan leaned over the boards and looked into the tunnel. He could see a set of stone steps leading down so deep that not even the moonlight could illuminate them. It almost looked like the stairs were being swallowed by darkness itself.

Sylvan then decided to mind his business, turn around, and head straight home.


	3. The Enigmatic Singer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvan, growing more and more curious, starts asking around about the singer called Neil Brennen. His investigation leads him to set out for the dark stone staircase once again...

A few days passed, and Sylvan still couldn’t push the image of the staircase out of his mind. Why was there a tunnel in the side of some random alleyway? Where did the stairs lead, and why were there signs forbidding entry? Everytime Sylvan went to work in the following days, he would lean over to pour malt into a tun, and the sensation of looking down into the void would return to him.

_ You don’t see shit like that in the countryside, _ he thought to himself.

The disappearance of the singer further contributed to the mystery. The idea of someone so luminous, immaculate, and talented descending into such a frightening place in the middle of the night was endlessly intriguing. More than anything, though, Sylvan was attracted to the possibility of change; further investigation had the potential to interrupt the agonizing monotony of his daily life. But where to start?

It was dangerous to roam about the alleyways so late in the evening. Doing so the other night had not been a sober decision, and he wasn’t comfortable with the risks of doing it again. Plus, he didn’t have the guts to descend the staircase on his own. He’d have to begin his investigation with the singer.

After his Wednesday shift, Sylvan made his way to the pub. The previous Wednesday, the day that Sylvan delivered the forgotten shipment of beer, was the only time he’d seen the singer.

Sylvan entered the pub, expecting the tranquil atmosphere brought on by a captivating performance, but the singer was nowhere to be seen. He did, however, hear some faint music through the chatter of the patrons. Sylvan looked to see the guitarist that had performed with the singer the previous week. He was sitting at a table by himself, swaying and strumming a quiet tune in a corner of the pub. Sylvan ventured over to the man.

“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, but will the singer from last week be performing here tonight?” Sylvan asked.

The guitarist continued playing, and didn’t look at Sylvan as he spoke. “It’s always ‘where’s the singer?’ and never ‘love your work, Trent.’ ‘You’re so talented, Trent.’ ‘I’m your biggest fan, Trent.’”

Sylvan cringed. “Uhh nevermind.” He began to walk away.

“His name is Neil,” confessed the guitarist. “That’s really all I know about the guy. We perform here together sometimes ‘cause we both get more tips that way. Simple as that.”

“Do you know his last name?” Sylvan asked.

“What are you, a cop? I’ve told you everything I know.”

Sylvan turned and sighed. What now? He looked towards the bar, and somewhat unsurprisingly, Rio was there. He had hoped to avoid another awkward conversation with the bartender, but it was either that or a dead end.

Sylvan took a seat at the bar and waited for Rio to finish serving a customer. The patron seemed to be wrapping up a somewhat lengthy story as Rio happily brought her another drink. After a moment, the bartender excused himself and made his way towards Sylvan.

“Nice to see you again, Sylvan! What can I get for you tonight?”

“Umm,” Sylvan scanned the menu hanging on the wall behind the bar. There were some wine and cocktail options, but they were a bit too pricey for his liking. Reluctantly, he ordered beer again.

As Rio brought the drink, Sylvan asked, “Hey, there was an incredible singer here last Wednesday. I was hoping I’d get to see him again, do you know when he’ll be performing next?”

Rio smiled brightly. “Oh, you mean Neil? Unfortunately, I’m not sure. I’ve heard that he works several jobs with weird hours, so he only performs when he’s available.”

“Ah, that’s too bad,” said Sylvan.  _ Who knew going down creepy stairs in the middle of the night qualified as a job _ , he thought sarcastically.

“Are you a fan of music?” asked Rio.

Sylvan thought about it for a moment. “I guess I’m not sure. I’ve never been able to afford going to a real concert of any sort. I’ve heard a few street performers here and there and enjoyed it, though.”

“Who wants to attend a concert with stuck-up nobles, anyway? Not me! I’m more than happy listening to the talented musicians that this part of town has to offer.”

“How long has Neil been performing here?” Sylvan asked, nonchalantly taking a sip of his drink.

“About as long as I’ve worked here,” said Rio. “It’s a real treat whenever he’s able to make an appearance. I’m sure if you keep coming around, he’ll show up again at some point. And even if he doesn’t, at least we’ll have our conversations to look forward to!”

_ Okay,  _ Sylvan thought,  _ that was kind of sweet. _ He couldn’t help but smile a little bit. Another patron took a seat at the bar and Rio took notice, readying himself to help the next customer. Not wanting to miss his chance to gather more information, Sylvan took another swig of his beer and realigned his thoughts.  _ Focus! _

“Hey, Rio, sorry, I know you gotta go in a sec, but I was just wondering: do you know what other jobs Neil does?”

“Nope, I’m not sure!”

“Maybe he does some work in the older part of town?” he suggested, trying to jog Rio’s memory. “Possibly, like, underground or something?”

Suddenly, Rio became very tense. “I told you already, I don’t know,” he said harshly. “Please excuse me, I have other patrons to attend to.”

As Rio walked away, Sylvan couldn’t help but feel a little hurt by his tone. And a little suspicious. Did Rio take his job  _ that _ seriously, or was this evidence that the bartender knew more than he let on?

For the rest of the night, Rio seemed to avoid Sylvan. The bartender would only spend a brief amount of time with him if he was ordering a drink, so Sylvan became quite drunk just trying to get Rio’s attention. Eventually, though, Sylvan had to acknowledge that he wasn’t getting any more information out of the bartender.

Later that night, Sylvan laid in bed getting rocked to sleep by his inebriation. Though he’d run out of leads to follow, he still felt accomplished.  _ I’m definitely onto something _ , he thought. It wasn’t long before he was fast asleep.

On Thursday, Sylvan tried to plan out his next steps. He resolved to continue going to the pub when he was free in case Neil showed up to perform, and he also decided to seek out street performers to ask if they knew anything about the singer. 

After work on Friday, Sylvan roamed the market streets for a while before stumbling upon a small group of musicians. After listening to a song and tipping accordingly, he approached them and asked about Neil. Miraculously, a couple members of the band had heard of him, though they didn’t know much about him. One flutist, however, knew that his last name was Brennen, so that was something. At least now Sylvan wouldn’t be at a loss when people asked “Neil who?”

On Saturday, Sylvan had planned to do some more investigating after his shift, but that would not come to pass. In the middle of the day, just before Sylvan’s lunch break, the brewery boss made his way to the front door to meet a courier who had come to collect a shipment.

“My apologies,” said the courier, who was out of Sylvan’s sight, “but my arm’s been aching quite a bit today. Could I borrow one of your available workers to help me load the boxes into my wagon? It shouldn’t take long.”

“I suppose that’s fine,” the boss said begrudgingly. He took a peek inside the brewery. “Sylvan,” he called, “your break’s soon, yeah? The courier needs some help loading a shipment.”

Sylvan quickly finished what he was doing and made his way to the front doors. As the courier standing outside came into his view, Sylvan’s heart sank. The courier was Neil Brennen.

“Thank you for taking the time to help me, mister Sylvan,” said Neil, sweetly.

“N-No problem,” replied Sylvan, nervously.

The boss left Sylvan and the courier alone to load the boxes of beer into Neil’s horse-drawn wagon. They both began loading the product in an uneasy silence, which was eventually broken by Neil.

“So tell me, mister Sylvan,” he began, “why have you been asking about me?”

Sylvan’s heart began to race. “I really wanted to hear you perform again.”

“That’s sweet,” said Neil, “but surprising, I must say, considering you didn’t even hear me sing an entire song. I’d like to think I have the talent to ensnare a listener in just a few seconds, but even  _ I’m  _ humble enough to admit I’m not  _ that _ good.”

“Well clearly you’re talented enough to remember a guy who barely stuck around for a song,” Sylvan retorted, trying to turn the tables. 

“Oh, I didn’t remember you, personally. But I can play detective too, you know,” he said coyly.

Sylvan was stunned.

“Keep moving boxes, if you please. I don’t have all day,” teased Neil.

Sylvan did as he was told.

When most of the boxes had been loaded, Neil spoke again. “What do you think of the Military Police?”

Sylvan eyed Neil. Was he a member of the MP Regiment? Was that one of his other jobs? No, if it was, he wouldn’t have the time to be a courier. Sylvan thought for a moment, and then decided to answer honestly. “I think they suck at their jobs,” he said bluntly.

“Why’s that?”

“While the Scouts and the Garrison are out risking their lives to fight Titans, most of the police revel in the comfort of Wall Sina and spend their time harassing poorer citizens.” Sylvan paused and thought of his cousin, who he knew had aspirations of becoming an officer. “But that’s just my experience. I doubt they’re  _ all  _ bad…”

“Too true,” cooed Neil. “Now let me ask you this: what do you think of the Order of the Walls?”

Sylvan winced at the memory of the street preacher he’d encountered during his shopping trip the previous week. “That’s a bit harder,” admitted Sylvan. “Times are tough. There’s so much uncertainty, so people turn to religion for a sense of security, I think. But I don’t understand what they hope to accomplish by blaming their problems on other people instead of the Titans themselves.”

“They see other people more than they see Titans,” answered Neil. “Instead of admitting that the situation’s out of their hands, they find any means necessary to feel in control, to feel like they have the power to make a difference. That’s my current theory, anyway. People are weird.”

Neil seemed less threatening now, which helped Sylvan feel slightly more comfortable. The courier loaded the last box into the wagon, then approached his messy-haired helper.

“Thank you for that,” Neil said warmly, reaching out his hand. Sylvan shook Neil’s hand, and was surprised to feel something small and flat between their palms. He gently grabbed hold of the object, then Neil pulled his hand away knowingly. “See you around,” he said, hopping into his wagon.

As Neil rode away to carry on with his deliveries, Sylvan stood outside for a moment and watched him go out of sight. Then, remembering the object he’d been given, Sylvan opened his palm to take a look. It appeared to be a small wooden brooch of sorts. Sylvan brought the rectangular brooch closer to his eyes and oriented it vertically so that he could make out the details. It looked to be hand-carved.

“Get back in here!” shouted the brewery boss from behind, startling Sylvan. “I don’t pay you to bask in the sun all day!”

“But sir, I’m on break.”

“Oh, right. Well finish your break inside, we’ll need you back to work in a few minutes!” With that, the boss returned into the brewery.

Sylvan sighed and followed after him.

After finishing his shift and arriving home after dark, Sylvan scraped together some dinner. As he ate, he examined the brooch he’d been handed earlier that day. It looked to be a precisely cut piece of stained wood, about an inch and a half by two inches, with a steel pin glued to the backside. On the front, the hand-carved design exposed the wood’s true, lighter colour beneath the stained surface. Carved into the upper-half of the brooch was the outline of a circle with four semi-circles spaced evenly around its circumference. This was a top-down depiction of Wall Sina; Sylvan knew this from Wall diagrams he’d seen in the past. Carved into the lower-half of the brooch were the wings of freedom, the symbol of the Scout Regiment.

What did it mean? Was Neil a radical supporter of the Scouts or something? As Sylvan finished his dinner, he continued to unpack all that had happened recently while further examining the brooch.  _ Shouldn’t the wings be above the wall, rather than below? _ he pondered.

Then something clicked in his mind, a realization accompanied by both worry and excitement. He lit a lamp and threw on a light jacket, pinning the brooch above his chest.

Sylvan, lantern in hand, set out into the night.


	4. Gateway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvan finally descends the mysterious staircase and goes deep underground.

As the moonlight shone down on Ehrmich District, the truth of the city seemed to be revealed. The class divisions that were washed out by the sun in the daytime became all the more apparent; the wealthy enjoyed a vivacious and indulgent nightlife while the poor prioritized safety above all else. The cloak of night provided the criminals of the slums with confidence and gusto, empowering them to spread out into lower-class neighbourhoods. In an old, somewhat forgotten part of town, however, the night was always quiet and still. The buildings in the area were mostly abandoned and in disarray, and there were hardly any businesses afloat. The unoccupied spaces barely even attracted criminals; they found it more beneficial to stick close to neighbourhoods with heightened activity.

Make no mistake, though. The old part of town was alive. Embedded deep in a labyrinth of alleyways was an arched tunnel built into a stone wall, with a wide opening like an endless yawn, leading deep into the belly of the city. Sylvan peeked over the criss-crossed planks nailed in front of the entrance, holding his lantern out to illuminate the stone steps that descended into darkness like a tongue down a throat. Holding his breath, Sylvan ducked beneath the wooden planks and took his first step downwards.

The only sounds that filled the tunnel were the man’s footsteps, echoing on contact with the stone stairs. Sylvan peaked behind him every few steps and watched as the moonlight pouring through the entrance became smaller and smaller until his lantern was the sole light in the tunnel. The staircase was unbelievably long, and the man walked for many minutes before the candlelight revealed something other than steps in front of him.

At last reaching the bottom of the staircase, he saw a long stone hallway that stretched out further into the dark. Preventing Sylvan from continuing forward, though, was a large, floor-to-ceiling metal gateway. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a plain set of bronze-coloured bars attached side-by-side in a parallel fashion. The gate consisted of a stationary frame and two swinging doors that met at the middle. A thick lock held the barred doors tightly together. Sylvan inched closer and noticed that the gate’s frame was welded to metal plates that had been bolted into the tunnel walls.

Sylvan got even closer, and his lantern illuminated a pair of eyes that stared directly at him from behind the gate. Sylvan shrieked and jumped back, his scream reverberating through the tunnel.

“Thanks for the free headache, asshole,” spoke a voice.

Sylvan slowly extended his lantern in the direction of the eyes and saw that they were, in fact, a part of someone’s face. Behind the metal bars stood a middle-aged woman, looking tired and bored. 

“Sorry,” said Sylvan.

“Come closer,” beckoned the woman.

The man did as he was told. Once he was within reach, the woman grabbed his jacket from between the bars and yanked him forward, nearly slamming him into the metal door. She scanned Sylvan's face, then squinted at the wooden brooch pinned above his chest.

“Alright, come on in,” she said, unlocking the doors.

Sylvan carried on through the tunnel, though he periodically glanced over his shoulder to make sure that the strange woman wasn’t following him. Eventually, after another few minutes of walking, Sylvan emerged into a massive open space.

A city’s worth of dilapidated buildings sprawled out in front of him and beyond. A few of the buildings had torches lining their outer walls, providing a bit of visibility. The ground beneath Sylvan’s feet felt like gravel, and he noticed a few stalagmites near the base of the tunnel he’d emerged from. He couldn’t see how high up the ceiling of the cave went; eventually the rocky cave walls just disappeared into the darkness above. Coming from deeper within the cave, Sylvan could hear a muffled noise that was hard to interpret. The torches lining the buildings seemed to lead in the direction of the sound, so Sylvan followed them onwards.

As the man walked closer to the noise, he took note of the buildings around him. Many of them were unfinished, it seemed. Some of them only had partially finished roofs, or they were missing doors and windows. He also started to realize that the buildings shared some similarities to the architecture he’d seen in the upper-class areas of Ehrmich. Sylvan didn’t bother theorizing about what any of this meant. He felt like he was caught up in a dream and assumed he’d be waking shortly.

Finally, Sylvan approached a large building that looked more complete than the rest he’d seen. The walls were constructed with high quality stone and the roof looked sturdy and spacious. A substantial amount of light was shining out from glass windows while the sounds of music and conversation slipped out between a set of double doors. Sylvan breathed shakily and entered the building.

The man found himself in a large open room with a glossy floor. The walls were decorated with a variety of glittering objects and lavish fabrics. Four large chandeliers hung from the ceiling with all their candles lit, giving the space a soft but vibrant glow. Well-crafted wooden tables filled most of the room with people seated and drinking around them. Off to the side was a bar area with smooth cabinets hung on the wall behind the counter. At the very back of the room, taking up a substantial amount of space, was an elevated stage backdropped by a red curtain. The stage was well-lit by some tall, ornate candlesticks lining the corners. 

Upon the stage stood a tall, elegant woman dressed in a gaudy fur coat. Her blonde hair spilled like liquid gold upon her bosom, and her face was caked with pigment that accentuated her piercing eyes and luscious lips. To the left and right sides of the stage sat several musicians playing string and brass instruments in unison. A pianist accompanied their tune in the corner of the room, facing an audience of more than a hundred people. The audience members were dressed in a kind of messy, eccentric way that contrasted against the luxurious space they occupied. The extravagant woman on the stage noticed Sylvan standing agape near the front doors and gave him a welcoming wink before beginning to sing.

Immediately, Sylvan recognized the singer’s voice as belonging to Neil Brennen.

“Sylvan!” called out another familiar voice.

Feeling a gentle hand tap his shoulder, Sylvan pried his eyes away from the stage to see a man with perfectly quaffed, dirty-blond hair and a bright smile. He was wearing a skimpy black top that showed off his toned muscles, and hanging around his forearms was an elegant purple robe. The top was tucked into black shorts that hugged his calves tightly and he was wearing boots embellished with purple gemstones. It took Sylvan a moment to realize that it was Rio Beckett standing beside him.

“Rio?!”

“I’m happy to see you looking so confused!” he said cheerily.

“What?”

“Yes, exactly! Come with me, we’ll talk once the song’s over.”

Rio made his way over to a table and Sylvan followed closely behind him. Sitting down, Sylvan noticed that there was someone else already at the table. She had brown hair cut boyishly short and her bold, brown eyes were glued to the stage. She beamed with pride. 

A pair of women standing near the wall behind the brunette caught Sylvan’s eye. He watched them curiously until one of the women planted a kiss on the other, then he looked around nervously to see if anyone had noticed. The crowd began to cheer rowdily, whistling and clapping in response to something happening on stage.

Sylvan looked to see that Neil had discarded his fur coat, revealing scanty lace undergarments that had been hidden underneath. Sylvan quickly hid his face behind his hands in embarrassment, then slowly pried a finger away out of curiosity. Neil looked like the most gorgeous person he’d ever seen. Neil looked completely unbound.

As the song came to a close, Neil retrieved the fur coat and left the stage. A woman dressed in a dapper suit then stood up and turned to face the audience.

“Give it up one more time for Aria Ackerman, everybody!”

The crowd cheered wildly, and Neil pranced over to join Rio’s table.

“So nice of you to join us, Sylvan” said Neil flirtatiously, taking a seat.

Sylvan looked at Neil, then to Rio, then to the brown-eyed woman sitting with them. “So,” began Sylvan, “I’d like to stay here forever, please.”


	5. The Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvan receives a little history lesson about the abandoned underground city beneath Ehrmich.

Ehrmich was a district like any other around Wall Sina. On a moonlit Saturday night, a curious bachelor peaked through the window of an enormous mansion to find a group of nobles discussing politics while chewing on high-quality meat. Meanwhile, a tourist enjoyed a play in one of the many theatres visited by aristocrats each night. Another tourist, lacking the funds to attend such a drama, wandered about the marketplace perusing the variety of affordably priced treats and wares. The same tourist also got pickpocketed, but such was the nature of things. The pickpocket used his stolen coin to feed a hungry mouth; whether it was his own or someone else’s was anybody’s guess. A woman on her way home from a pub glanced down an alleyway to see a man with a dagger held inches away from his throat as a ruffian stated his demands. She pretended like she hadn’t seen anything.

Beneath all the excess and misfortune, the outcasts of society gathered together and honoured their love, their dreams, and their idiosyncrasies.

As the next performer made their way to the stage, four deviants sat around a table in an abandoned underground city. One of them was a first-timer with hazel eyes and permanently messy hair. Another was an off-duty bartender dressed in his most revealing attire. The third was a hard-working singer with a passion for the subversive. The last was a brunette woman who revelled in escapism. The four of them had taken turns ordering their drink of choice at the bar, and had begun to converse while growing all the more tipsy.

“Hey Neil? Why are people calling you Aria?” asked Sylvan.

“Because that’s my name,” said Aria.

“But that’s a woman’s name.”

“And I am a woman,” replied Aria matter-of-factly. Sylvan still looked confused, so Aria continued. “Listen, Sylvee. The rules that bind us to arbitrary standards of gender and sexuality are not present down here in The Underground. Tonight on that stage, you’ll see some men who simply dress up as women here, but you’ll also see women who must pretend to be men up on the surface. Just keep your ears and mind open and you’ll understand in no time.”

Sylvan was excited to learn. “So I should call you Aria from now on?”

“Only down here. Up top, keep calling me Neil; it’s a matter of safety. But don’t get it twisted, my real name is and will always be Miss Aria Ackerman!”

Sylvan admired the self-assured way that Aria spoke. She seemed unstoppable. “So what exactly is this place?”

Rio spoke up. “Do you know about the underground city below Mitras?”

“Is that where we are now? Beneath the capital?” asked Sylvan in awe.

Rio laughed. “You didn’t walk  _ that _ far! Basically it’s like this: in the past, the government took note of humanity’s growing population and decided that we needed more space. Expanding outwards wasn’t an option with the Titans beyond Wall Maria, so they had the bright idea of expanding  _ downwards _ instead. Turns out, though, that the sun is kind of important, so by the time construction on an underground city was finished, nobody actually wanted to live there. But oh no! Oh darn! They poured all this money into its construction anyway, so what now? Well the poor people in the capital sure are an eyesore, aren’t they? Let’s force them all underground and overcharge them if they want to climb up to the surface.”

Sylvan’s excitement dampened. “Oh. That’s awful.”

“Sure is,” said Rio, “but lucky for us, the government had already begun construction on underground cities beneath the four districts surrounding the capital by the time they decided the idea sucked. They just up and abandoned the projects, sealing off the underground tunnels with metal gates.”

“How did you unlock the gate, then?”

The brunette woman chimed in. “Are we just gonna sit around answering this guy’s questions all night?” she asked rudely.

“No one’s forcing you to stay, Winny,” said Aria. “You had just as many questions your first time here, too.”

The woman, apparently called Winny, rolled her eyes and took a swig of her drink.

“No one really knows for sure how this all started,” began Aria. “The story is that, years ago, there was a deviant in the Military Police who had a lover in each of the four districts around Wall Sina. The deviant MP bestowed each of her lovers with keys to their respective underground cities where they would be able to meet and be intimate in private. Every Saturday night, she would travel to one of the districts to meet with one of her lovers. Somewhere along the way, more and more deviants began meeting in the abandoned cities beneath each district on Saturday nights. Here in Ehrmich, the deviants found one of the nicer buildings, spruced up the interior a bit, and here we are now!”

“I’m surprised this has been going on for so long without it being discovered,” admitted Sylvan.

“Well, lucky for us, we have a pretty solid system in place,” explained Aria. “Every district is different, but here in Ehrmich we use the brooches as a kind of membership card. The design incorporates the Wings of Freedom so that if any of us are caught wearing the brooch, we can use the excuse that we’re just showing our support for the Scouts. Only a select few of us are chosen to distribute brooches to those we feel we can trust. You met Roxy the gatekeeper, I’m sure? She keeps watch in the tunnel and checks each brooch to ensure they’re genuine before unlocking the gate and letting someone down here.”

“Oh, I see!” said Sylvan, barely keeping up. “Wait, that kind of sucks for Roxy though, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, she comes down and joins the rest of us eventually,” assured Aria. “Then we have people take shifts standing guard at the gate to make sure no one comes snooping around.”

“That’s good then,” said Sylvan. He thought for a moment before deciding that he had run out of questions for the time being. “So...Aria, huh? Are you called that ‘cause you’re a singer? Where does Ackerman come from?”

“My name is the result of a little brainstorming session between me and my darling little Winny over here!” said Aria, reaching over to hug the brunette adoringly. Winny was unphased.

“Umm nice to meet you, I’m Sylvan.”

“Winona Blair.”

“May I call you Winny?”

“Whatever.”

Sylvan slowly leaned over towards Rio and whispered, “Why does she hate me?”

“Oh she doesn’t,” assured Rio. “That’s just Winny.”

“Ladies, gents, and in-betweeners,” began the woman in the dapper suit at the foot of the stage, “performing next, in a death-defying act, is our very own Bridget Battalion!”

The room grew quiet. A woman in a Scout Regiment uniform walked onstage. She saluted the audience and held her stance for a moment.

As the candles around the stage flickered, Sylvan caught a glimpse of Rio’s face, and thought he looked rather forlorn.

Unexpectedly, a small wooden cut-out in the shape of a Titan sprung up beside the woman on stage. The band burst into song as someone passed a sword to Bridget Battalion. Playing pretend, she began to fight the wooden Titan, swiping her sword in time with the melody. 

Winny cheered passionately. “KILL THE BASTARD, BRIDGET!!! WOOOO!!!”

After Bridget’s performance, someone called Lucian Luxury took to the stage. The band played a jazzy tune as he strutted between tables, giving the audience a good look at his expensive-looking outfit.

“Is he a noble or something?” asked Sylvan.

“No, but he sure is convincing, right?” said Rio. “That’s what some of us come here to do. People like us don’t often get the same opportunities as regular folk, but in this place we’re able to imagine the possibilities.”

Sylvan’s eyes glimmered as he watched the performer strike a pose. “So when’s the next show?”


	6. Utopia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvan visits The Underground for the second time and comes to realize that the community of deviants isn't devoid of their own problems.

_Hey cousin,_

_You wouldn’t believe the shit I’ve seen. I’m sure you’ve heard that the Colossal Titan destroyed Trost’s gate a few weeks ago. I was there when it happened, just cleaning out the cannons on top of the Wall. I’m ok though, don’t worry._

_The Scout Regiment was out on an expedition when everything went down, so the military had to deploy us recent graduates to defend Trost. We got our asses kicked, and a lot of people I knew died (sorry to be a downer, but that’s life I guess)._

_We were fighting for a long time, and my friends and I eventually ran low on gas for our Omni-Directional Mobility gear. By that time, the building with our gas reserves had been overrun with Titans. I thought I was a goner, to be honest! But against the odds, we managed to storm the building and kill all the Titans (well, I wasn’t able to kill the one assigned to me, but thankfully one of my friends saved my life. Whatever, I’m sure I still looked cool anyway)._

_The good news is that I was one of the top 10 graduates of the Cadet Corps. You’d think, after all I’ve seen, that I’d be rushing to join the Military Police now...but I’ve actually resolved to joining the Scouts. I’m not even kidding. One of my fellow trainees gave a speech that truly inspired me...I really do feel like I have a responsibility to secure humanity’s future by exploring beyond the Walls._

_I don’t plan on dying, but I also don’t know when or if I’ll be seeing you again. I guess if you stop getting letters, you’ll know something’s up! Even if that “something” is just a postal strike (haha). If I’m ever around Ehrmich, I’ll do my best to pay you a visit. I’d love for you to meet my friends, too._

_How’s painting going, by the way? I just know you’ve made a few masterpieces since our last exchange. Keep up the good work!_

_Take care of yourself, cousin._

Alone in his room, Sylvan read the letter with both horror and adoration. What had his cousin gotten himself into? Not wanting to dwell on the idea of his cousin meeting a brutal end to the Titans, he decided that he would send a reply at a later date. Sylvan neatly folded the letter back into its enveloppe, then looked at the canvas he’d turned towards the wall. After fighting a small battle within himself, he decided to turn the canvas over and reexamine his painting.

The face he’d painted didn’t belong to Rio, but some imaginary version of him, infused with all the beauty and magic of the moment. The painting had a dreamlike quality, and upon reflection Sylvan found that he was quite happy with the technique and colour palette he’d used.

“Cousin would want me to be proud of this,” he reasoned to himself. Before heading off to work, Sylvan hung the painting on the wall above his bedside desk.

Working at the brewery had become a breeze ever since Sylvan had gone underground that fateful night. Now that he had something to look forward to at the end of his week, he was untouchable. Nagging boss? Big deal! Standoffish coworkers? Whatever! The poverty line? Hardly know her!

All his problems and all his worries dissolved at the thought of visiting The Underground and being completely, totally himself. The thrill of the transgressive, the unifying force of alcohol, the comfort of friends. Sylvan just had to grit his teeth through normal life and then all of that could be his. He’d found utopia beneath the city. Saturday night couldn’t come soon enough.

On Wednesday, Sylvan’s shift ended earlier than usual, which he was thankful for since he desperately needed to find an outfit. After stopping by his apartment to change into nicer clothes, Sylvan made his way to the market square. There, on the same bench as last time, stood the street preacher prattling on. Sylvan couldn’t have cared less.

_Do your worst. Just try and persecute us_ , thought Sylvan. _If you can even find us, that is!_

Sylvan entered a men’s clothing shop and began to browse around. He was met with drab rows of grey and beige garments. Each suit was nearly indistinguishable from another, each shirt more boring than the next. With a sigh, Sylvan exited the store without making a purchase.

He wandered the street, keeping an eye out for a business with more exciting clothing options. Eventually, he came across a storefront that dazzled him. In a window display, Sylvan ogled an amber coloured shirt with patterned accents of saffron. The neck of the top was cut in a deep “V” shape, but criss-crossed red string added intrigue to the blank space. The sleeves were a bit larger at the shoulders and slim at the wrists, resulting in a fascinating silhouette. Without reading the name of the business, Sylvan entered the store.

“Welcome,” greeted a stylish woman at the check-out. “Buying for a special lady today?”

Sylvan realized that he’d stumbled into a women’s boutique. “O-Oh, yes! I am.”

“Please allow me to assist you, dear. I know men often struggle with these things,” said the woman, walking over to Sylvan. “What’s her style?”

“Erm,” muttered the man with uncertainty, “I think she said she liked the...orange top on display there.”

“She has great fashion sense! I’m sure you’ll make her very happy with that garment. Do you know her measurements?”

Sylvan was caught off guard by the question. “W-Well before that, could I get a price first?”

“What’s a little money when it comes to love?” Said the woman, fluttering her eyelashes. 

Regardless, she told him the price. It would be a heavy hit to purchase. Sylvan wished that he could try it on first, otherwise he wouldn’t feel confident enough to buy it. He considered attempting to tell the woman that his measurements were nearly the same as his imaginary girlfriend’s, but he decided that would be too suspicious. In the end, he ended up leaving the store empty handed.

Saturday seemed to roll around sooner than he’d anticipated, and Sylvan still had nothing to wear. He felt so out of place the last time, showing up to The Underground in his regular, ragged attire. Sylvan decided that he had to turn to someone with more experience for assistance. 

After work, he visited the nearby pub and made his plea to Rio. He made sure to speak vaguely and not mention The Underground by name, just in case someone was listening in, but he was pretty sure that Rio got the jist.

“I’ll be done here in a bit,” said Rio, “so please wait for me. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Sylvan had a couple beers to pass the time, and waited quietly for his friend to be finished working. At last, Rio beckoned him to meet at the back of the pub.

Outside, Sylvan leaned against the wall of the pub with his hands behind his back and waited. Eventually, Rio emerged from the backdoor having changed out of his bartending uniform. The clothes he was wearing weren’t all that different from any other man’s.

Rio led Sylvan to his apartment. It was a substantial distance from the pub, and Sylvan thought about how irritating the trek must be for him. They hardly spoke as they made their way through the neighbourhood streets, but not because they didn’t want to. Those who dared to say the wrong things in public would find the Military Police knocking on their doors in no time.

Rio’s place was similar to Sylvan’s: small, rickety, and generally unappealing. The only major difference was that, where Sylvan had art supplies, Rio had a rather impressive bookshelf. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” said Rio, “I’ll be right with you.”

As Rio rummaged through his closet, Sylvan curiously perused his collection of books. Many of them looked to be second-hand, as evidenced by their creases and matted covers. He tilted his head to read a few titles from the book spines: _Plant Life in the Walls_ , _A Brief History of Industry_ , _Steel Yourself: A Steel Maker's Guide to Independent Crafting_ , _Meteorology for the Uninitiated_.

Before Sylvan could select a book to skim through, Rio dumped a mass of clothes on his bed.

“Pick your poison,” invited Rio.

Sylvan began to evaluate each article of clothing one at a time, admiring the various cuts, shapes, colours, and fabrics. “How did you get all this?” asked Sylvan.

“About once a month, we have a clothing exchange underground. The women bring their unwanted articles and the men bring theirs, and everyone who participates is free to take something that catches their eye.” Rio lifted a jacket and stroked it lovingly. “Of course, you might be wondering how people like us could possibly afford such nice things in the first place.”

“Do you steal them?”

“Not exactly. Stealing from a boutique is a challenge, but stealing fabric from a busy marketplace is much easier, assuming you own a pair of scissors. After that, it’s just a matter of finding a seamstress to throw something together.” 

As Rio said this, Sylvan pried a garment from the clothing pile and winced at the sound of tearing fabric. He looked to Rio apologetically.

“Of course,” said Rio, gently taking the ruined piece from Sylvan, “you get what you pay for. I’m sure the nobles have access to better seamstresses, but we take what we can get.”

After some more rummaging, Rio and Sylvan had their completed outfits laid out on the bed. “Should I get changed?” asked Sylvan.

Rio shook his head side to side. “We’ll change when we get there. I have some bags we can use to pack these away for now.”

The pair of men departed from Rio’s apartment and cautiously made their way to the entrance of the abandoned underground city. Rio gracefully ducked below the wooden planks first, followed clumsily by Sylvan.

The darkness of the tunnel that had frightened Sylvan so much the first time around now provided comfort. It was relieving to hide from the moonlight, to feel unseen. As they walked, Rio turned to check on Sylvan, carrying a lantern that enveloped their faces in a warm glow. Rio smiled softly and looked as though he was about to speak, but then decided against it. Eventually, the two men arrived at the gate.

Roxy the gatekeeper once again stood expressionless behind the metal bars, eyes scanning and ready to scrutinize. “Come closer,” she beckoned.

“Roxy, you know I’m good by now! Do we have to do this every time?” asked Rio, playfully.

“You could be a shapeshifter for all I know. Present your brooch or leave.”

Rio did as he was told, and Sylvan followed suit. Roxy soon unlocked the gate, and the men continued onward.

Stepping into the brightest and most in-tact building in the abandoned underground, Sylvan was elated. All around, eccentrics could be seen making merry at the bar or dancing along with a musical performance, wearing jewelry and outfits that feigned opulence and betrayed assumptions. 

Sylvan and Rio entered a side room to change. Rio wore sleek black pants and an unbuttoned burgundy jacket that exposed his toned chest and stomach. Sylvan wore a loose-fitting, long-sleeved black blouse that paired well with some gold-coloured shorts. He felt incredibly attractive as he admired his outfit in a nearby mirror.

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” Rio said as they returned to the main room.

As his companion made his way to the bar, Sylvan found an available table and took a seat. He watched the stage with glee as someone began a comedy skit pretending to be a drunken member of the Military Police. He could see Aria laughing off to the side, waiting for her turn to perform.

“Is this seat taken?” asked a voice.

Sylvan turned to see a person with extravagantly styled hair, dressed in a periwinkle ball gown and cooling themself with a fold-out fan. Sylvan wondered what he should do in this situation. “No, the seat’s free,” he said.

The stranger, who Sylvan assumed to be a performer, took a seat. They continued watching the comedy show together, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

“Quite funny, wouldn’t you say?” asked the stranger.

“Yes! It’s refreshing,” answered Sylvan honestly. “People mock the MPs on the surface, too, but this is a very creative way of doing it.”

“It certainly is. My name is Raymond, by the way. Though I’m a man, you’ll hear me be introduced as Ms. Lightning later tonight.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Sylvan.”

“I _love_ your outfit,” complimented Raymond, “it looks amazing on you.”

Sylvan felt honoured. “Well, thank you! I like your, um, commanding presence!”

“I get that a lot,” he replied. “Tell me, are you planning on entering the competition next week?”

“Competition?”

“Yes, hun. At the end of every month, we hold a competition. The performer with the most enrapturing act wins first place and takes home a small pool of cash.”

“That sounds fun. It’s a little short notice for me, but I look forward to watching it.”

“Ah yes, I’m sure your friend will pull off something special,” said Raymond, nodding in Aria’s direction. “You don’t happen to know what she’ll be performing, do you?”

“Probably a song?” answered Sylvan vaguely.

“Yes, but do you have the scoop on any outfits in the works? The genre of song? Any piece of information could help.”

“Help with what?” asked Sylvan.

“Step off, Lightning,” said a raspy voice.

Sylvan and Raymond looked behind them to see Winny, standing with her arms crossed.

“Must you _always_ ruin my fun, Ms. Blair?”

“If by ‘fun’ you mean _scheming_ , then yes. Now go. Your makeup is starting to sweat off.”

With a scoff, Raymond got up to leave. “By the way, Sylvan: your outfit is just ok,” he said as he left.

Winny took a seat. Sylvan suddenly felt naive.

“He’s always trying to use cheap tricks to gain the upperhand,” explained the brunette.

Rio arrived at the table with two drinks. “Ah, Winny! Sorry I didn’t get you anything.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

The three of them sat and made conversation while enjoying a variety of performances. Sylvan took some time to observe the people around him. He could tell a lot of the patrons were drinking far past their limits, but that seemed to be normal here. 

At one point, while looking for the bathroom, Sylvan stumbled into a side room containing a group of people sitting strangely still on a set of couches. On a table in front of them, he could see a kind of crushed up powder. 

Later, a fight broke out between two men as they argued about politics, and it took a while to break it up. 

When Rio went to get more refreshments later in the night, Sylvan noticed a man sitting at the bar who discretely slipped something into Rio’s drink. After warning Rio about his spiked beverage, Sylvan suggested reporting the man’s dangerous behaviour to Roxy and asking her not to let him into The Underground anymore. Rio and Winny explained how that wasn’t an option, since excluding the predator could lead him to notify the authorities about The Underground as an act of revenge. Instead, they would just have to spread the word to be wary of him. Sylvan started to feel like he hadn’t found a utopia after all.

Winny, Rio, and Sylvan returned to their seats. After all he had seen that night, the hazel-eyed man felt anxious about going home alone. Sylvan gently touched Rio’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Could you walk me home tonight?”

Just as Sylvan made this request, Aria took to the stage, ready to perform her heart out.


	7. Mirrored Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years ago, Aria Ackerman put on a dress for the first time and her life changed forever.

Neil Brennen’s world was shattering apart. She stood in her apartment holding up a dress in front of her body, transfixed by her reflection in the mirror. Almost in a trance, she undressed and slipped on the flowing garment. She did a little twirl and then panicked at how good it felt. She quickly pulled the dress off, put it back in its box, and kicked the box underneath her bed. She sat on the floor, naked in front of her mirror, and glared at herself.

Neil had acquired the dress purely by chance when she had just started out as a courier in Ehrmich District. As she arrived at one of her destinations, Neil parked her wagon, calmed her horses, and sang a little tune as she approached the front door of a small house. After knocking politely, a grizzly old man answered the door.

“Package for Moira Merritt?” said Neil.

“The bitch up and left,” said the old man coldly.

“Pardon?”

“She’s NOT. HERE. I don’t want the stinkin’ dress and I bet you she doesn’t want it either! She doesn’t want ANYTHING from me. Her words, not mine! And you know what? I don’t want to give her nothin’ anyway!”

“Er, well,” began Neil with uncertainty, “I should probably check with her nonetheless. Do you have her new address or-”

The man slammed the door right in Neil’s face. The courier could have just taken the parcel back to the post office to have it returned to the seller, but something came over her when she had heard what the package contained.

For a while, after trying on the dress for the first time, Neil had thought that it was cursed. She couldn’t get her mind off of it no matter what she did, and she remained haunted by the image of herself in the mirror. Neil took to visiting women’s boutiques, just to browse the clothes, always ready with the excuse that she was looking for a gift for her “wife.”

One day, Neil was feeling particularly daring. She was the only customer in one of the boutiques, and the sole staff member had gone to check something in a different room. She saw this as an opportunity and held up one of the garments in front of herself. She looked to the mirror, trying to imagine how it would fit on her. The shopkeep, however, returned far quicker than Neil had anticipated, and she caught on quick.

Neil tried to explain herself. “M-My wife and I just have very similar proportions, is all, and-”

The shopkeep tenderly placed a hand on Neil’s shoulder. “It’s ok,” she said in a warm voice. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

The woman, whose name was Candace Adelaide, would later go on to convince Neil that the dress she’d taken from the grizzly old man had been a blessing rather than a curse. The two women continued to speak after their chance encounter at the boutique. Before long, Candace gave Neil a peculiar wooden brooch. She led her to an old part of Ehrmich and brought her to an ominous tunnel with a staircase that led deep underground. Neil was astonished, confused, and delighted by the sights and sounds offered by the small community in the abandoned underground city.

She was even more delighted to see Candace up on the stage, performing in masculine attire under the name Conrad Hildebrand. 

“Do you want to be a man?” Neil asked.

“Oh no, but I’m not satisfied just being a woman, either!” Candace replied. “Tonight on that stage, you saw some women who simply dress up as men here, but you also saw men who have to pretend to be women up on the surface.”

“Can it work the other way around?” questioned Neil. “Can a man become a woman?”

“Down here, at The Underground,” Candace began, “you can be anything.”

Neil would go on to meet others who were like herself; women who had to play the role of men on the surface to avoid persecution. The other deviants started calling her Aria, since she was always humming and singing little songs. She liked that name, and started to think of herself as Aria as well. Over time, she grew out her hair and began shaving her face and body. Eventually, the dress inside the box (that had been collecting dust under her bed for months) was set free. Aria donned the dress and loved how it flowed, loved how it looked on her, and loved who she was.

Aria started working multiple jobs in order to pay for her new hobby of collecting clothes. She worked difficult hours, often going weeks at a time without a proper day off. After pulling together enough money, Aria would pay a female friend to go out and purchase some dress that had caught her eye. Getting to wear a new dress made all the hours of labour worth it to Aria.

Later, after Aria showed an interest in performing, Candace offered to lend her some makeup and taught her the skills needed to apply it properly. Soon enough, Aria made her onstage debut in the abandoned underground city. Before her metamorphosis, she never had the confidence to really show off her voice to other people, but on that stage she was unstoppable. All of her love, all of her confidence, and all of her dreams were set free into the world by her songs, and people adored her for that. Candace couldn’t have been more proud.

Then one Saturday night, Candace didn’t show up to The Underground. Aria held out for her, trying to convince herself that Candace was simply late and would arrive any minute. Then Aria started asking everyone if they’d seen or heard from Candace. Aria changed into her masculine clothes and ran as fast as she could to the surface, emerging into the moonlight alleyway in a panic. 

She ran to Candace’s house and found that the door had been broken down.

Aria found nothing inside. Nobody, no body, no evidence of what had happened. Suddenly she was without her mentor, her mother, and her best friend all at once. Candace had completely disappeared. 

The older members of The Underground community bestowed Aria with the task of handing out brooches in the wake of Candace’s disappearance. She found no joy in this, rather, she felt like she didn’t deserve the honour at all. To Aria, it seemed as though the elders had only given her brooch distribution privileges in an attempt to make her feel better about her loss.

Aria couldn’t bring herself to perform for a long time after that. Every time she tried to do her makeup or put on a dress, she would only think of Candace and weep. 

To compensate, Aria began performing at markets and on street corners. Sometimes, she even performed with other musicians to attract a larger crowd.

“You’re incredible,” complimented a young man one day.

“Thank you very much,” Aria responded humbly.

“You should perform at the pub I bartend at! We’re always looking for new ways to liven up the place...since we can barely afford new candles.”

Aria was about to shoot down the man’s poorly-worded request, but he was too adorable to disappoint. “If I have the time,” she said, “I might stop by.”

Aria came to discover that she enjoyed performing in the pub much more than on the street. The atmosphere was cozy and there was a strong sense of community among the patrons. Plus, it helped that people couldn’t just walk by and ignore her performance like they could on the street.

After performing a song one night, Aria was approached by a young woman with long brown hair.

“Excuse me,” began the woman politely, “I think you’re amazing, but I don’t have any loose change to tip you with! Please stop by my family bakery when you get the chance so that I can compensate you for the performance! My name’s Winona Blair by the way.”

“I’ll never say no to free food,” said Aria. 

Aria made her way to the bar. Without even having to ask, Rio got her a glass of water, which she happily drank as she rested her voice.

Aria got the impression that Rio was a profoundly lonely person. He had the tendency to drive away patrons by telling sob stories about his past relationship. It irritated Aria to watch.

“You know,” began Aria one night, unprompted, “people love to talk about themselves. It might be better for business if you just let customers spill their problems to you instead of the other way around.”

“Ah,” sighed Rio, “you’re probably right. To tell you the truth, I just don’t have many people to converse with outside of work.”

“A man like you, with all your charm and good looks? Friendless? How is that possible?” pried Aria.

Rio’s eyes turned to the floor. “I guess I just don’t feel all that comfortable around most folks.”

Aria felt a little sorry for the young man.

“If I’m being honest, Neil,” continued Rio, “out of everyone I know, I think you’re the only one I’d consider a friend.”

It was something in the way he said it: his wistful, misunderstood tone. Aria knew that tone well. 

“Chin up,” she said, clasping Rio’s hands. “Once you’re off work tonight, let’s hit the town.”

As Aria let go of his hands, Rio looked down and saw a wooden brooch. “Where are we going?” asked Rio.

Aria smiled. “Someplace you might find more comfortable.”

Eventually, Aria did indeed visit Winny’s family bakery. The shop, a two-story wooden building on the cusp of the slums, was rather small and had a somewhat limited menu. There were only two tables inside, suggesting that most customers ordered their baked goods to go. Behind the counter at the back of the room was an open doorway where Aria could see a small kitchen. Noticing a set of stairs to the left of the counter, Aria correctly made the assumption that Winny and her family slept on the upper floor.

The day Aria came to the bakery for the first time, Winny was working behind the counter while her family worked up a sweat in the kitchen behind her.

“Neil! I’m so glad you’re here, thanks for coming,” said the brunette with enthusiasm.

Aria ordered a fruit-filled pastry and took a seat at one of the tables. The pastry was quite rich and tasted surprisingly fresh, considering the run-down look of the shop.

Suddenly Aria heard the distinct and piercing sound of a crying child. She turned to see a little kid who had entered the shop, dripping with snot and tears.

Winny ran over to him. “Oh, Frankie, what have you done now?”

The child, Frankie, had torn his favourite shirt while roughhousing with his friends.

“I can mend it,” said Winny, “but I can’t leave the storefront unmanned. Sorry to ask you this, Neil, but could you go upstairs and grab my sewing supplies? My room’s the second one on the right.”

Aria obliged, wanting to quell the child’s screaming as fast as possible. Aria ascended the creaking stairs and found Winny’s room without issue. Upon seeing what was inside the room, Aria stood awestruck in the doorway. 

Pinned onto a dress form was the most stunning garment Aria had ever laid eyes on. Though it was clearly constructed from cheap fabric with cheap sewing supplies, the absolute spirit poured into its creation was so apparent that it nearly brought Aria to tears. She  _ had _ to wear it. No, she had to  _ perform _ in it.

In the span of time that it took to finally bring down Winny’s sewing supplies, Aria had already come up with a plan. She continued to visit the bakery from that point forward and commissioned Winny to create dresses for her, no questions asked. Winny, always happy to have some extra income, agreed without argument, assuming that the singer would be gifting the garments to a special lady friend. After presenting the first finished piece and seeing Aria’s expression, however, Winny got the sense that the dresses would never be leaving the singer’s own closet.

Soon, the truth came out that Aria was performing in the outfits, and Winny was furious. “Have you been properly crediting me as your designer?!”

Aria was relieved that credit was all the brunette had been concerned with. 

Winny insisted that she was half the reason behind the success of “Aria the performer,” and demanded to be represented in some way.

“What do you want me to do, change my name to Winny’s Bitch For Life?” asked Aria, sarcastically.

“Not a bad idea,” replied Winny coyly, “but I think I’d be satisfied if I could choose your  _ last _ name. Just as a subtle way of leaving my mark...don’t worry, I’m not so conceited that I’d choose ‘Blair.’” Winny’s eyes grew wide with an idea. “How about Aria Ackerman? I think that has a nice ring to it.”

“Who the hell is Ackerman?”

Winny seemed excited by the question. “A total badass.”

By the end of their conversation, Aria had given Winny a wooden brooch so that she could finally experience one of her performances. The following Saturday night in the underground, Aria reintroduced Winny to Rio, forgetting that they were already aware of each other from the pub. The singer was happy to see the two become fast friends. Unfortunately, though, despite becoming a regular at The Underground, Rio still carried an overall depressing aura. Aria began to think that the man was a lost cause.

Until one afternoon, while on the job as a courier, Aria went to pick up a shipment of beer from a local brewery. As she loaded some boxes into her wagon, she noticed a man with adorably messy hair and bright hazel eyes. The man wore a forlorn expression that reminded Aria of Rio. Not one to meddle directly, but also not one to let an opportunity fly by the wayside, Aria began to scheme. 

She found a box that was meant to be delivered to Rio’s pub and made sure to “accidentally” leave it behind at the brewery. Whatever transpired after that was up to chance alone, but Aria would, of course, receive a great deal of satisfaction watching it all unfold.


	8. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being saved by a military trainee, Winona Blair started to think deeply about humanity and the Walls. She shared one of her theories with a woman she met in The Underground.

Winona Blair and her parents used to live in Trost District up until the end of the year 849. Their little bakery was well regarded by the locals and they lived comfortable daily lives. However, after the Titans broke through Wall Maria, Winny’s parents became ridden with anxiety and began saving every penny so they could eventually move to Ehmirch. They wanted to get as far away from Wall Rose as possible, should the Titans ever break through.

One day, just a few weeks before the move, the residents of Trost were informed that the 104th Cadet Corps would be doing a training exercise. The military had set up large wooden boards in the shape of Titans for the trainees to practice with. The wooden Titan cut-outs had a kind of dense, spongy mass attached to their “necks” so that the trainees could simulate slicing through the napes of real Titans.

The exercise wasn’t just for the trainees, but also the residents of Trost. They had to practice evacuating just in case the wall surrounding the city was ever breached. Once the training had begun, the military started guiding the citizens through the evacuation process while the Cadet Corps slayed their “Titans.”

As the process continued, Mrs. Blair noticed something was missing.

“Where’s Winny?”

“Wasn’t she just standing with you?” replied Mr. Blair.

Winny, not wanting to miss out on seeing the soldiers-to-be in action, had run off into the city. Though she was twenty-five years-old, she had the enthusiasm of a starry-eyed child when it came to Titan-slaying. For that reason, Winny fervently admired the Scout Regiment, who risked their lives venturing into Titan-infested areas with the hope of learning more about the world they all live in. More than that, though, she hoped that the Scouts would succeed on their missions. If the Scouts were able to take back Wall Maria in time, then maybe her and her family wouldn’t have to move.

After running through the streets, keeping close to nearby houses to avoid detection, Winny finally came upon one of the wooden cut-outs. It was extremely tall, with the “head” being so high up that it poked out above the rooftops. She kept her back close to the wall of a nearby house and waited, eyes glued to the skies. Finally, she heard the faint sounds of metal cords being launched from Omni-Directional Mobility gear. Her heart began to beat fast. Winny saw the anchor of a cord latch on to the wood of the false Titan, and she moved further into the street to get a better view of the trainee’s incoming strike.

Maybe he lacked skill or maybe his ODM gear was faulty, but for whatever reason, the trainee crashed into the wooden cut-out with enough force to make it topple over. With a groan, the “Titan” began falling towards Winny. The trainee, the one that had crashed, managed to grapple into the side of a house and pull himself to safety. Anyone watching from above would have seen the shadow cast by the wooden Titan grow larger around Winny as it fell towards her. All of this happened too quickly for anyone to react, and Winny watched helplessly as she was about to be crushed by the heavy slab of wood.

Then, suddenly, Winny was soaring through the sky. For a moment, she thought she had gone to Heaven, but as her shock subsided she became more aware of the truth. She was being carried by a trainee, who had used their ODM gear to swoop down and rescue her before she could be squashed. Carrying Winny to safety, the trainee landed on a nearby rooftop and gently helped the young woman find her footing.

“Are you alright?” asked a low, monotone voice.

Winny slowly looked towards her saviour’s face, squinting as the sunlight beamed down. It was a teenage girl who looked no older than fourteen. She had a serious expression and deep, dark eyes. Her hair was black as coal and not one strand was out of place. She wore a red scarf that fell delicately between her military jacket. Overall, the girl had a calm, powerful, and mysterious aura. She looked like no one Winny had ever seen before.

“God?” asked Winny, delirious.

After making sure that Winny was okay to move, the trainee brought her to one of the military men working on the evacuation. The trainee blasted off into the sky to return to her training while the military man gave Winny a scolding. Winny couldn’t have been less phased by her reprimanding, and she interrupted the man to ask who the trainee that had saved her was.

“Brilliant, isn’t she?” began the man, “Her name is Mikasa Ackerman. I’ve no doubt that she’ll be graduating at the top of her class next year. She’s an absolute monster.”

Winny was both starstruck and absurdly envious. On one hand, it was incredibly impressive that someone so young had developed so much skill. On the other, how _dare_ she be so young and have so much skill. Winny, who was stuck living with her parents as a grown adult, welled up with jealousy.

Eventually, the time indeed came for the Blair family to move to Ehmirch. They gathered all their things and boarded a ship that would take them there directly from Trost. Winny was less than impressed when they arrived at their new home: a shabby building just beyond the slums.

“We won’t be here forever,” promised Mr. Blair. “We just need to work here for a while until we make enough to buy a place on the market street.” 

Until then, the Blairs would have to live just above the poverty line. Almost every cent earned by Winny was given back to her parents and added to their savings in preparation for moving again in the future. If Winny had any funds left over, she used it to buy sewing supplies.

Living so close to the slums, Winny often saw groups of orphaned children playing outside the bakery. As she observed them, she couldn’t help but sympathize with them, and felt compelled to help in whatever small way she could. She noticed that the orphans’ clothes were frequently tattered, so she had the idea of learning to sew for them.

After a while, Winny had purchased a decent amount of supplies. After pouring so much money and time into sewing, she figured she might as well take up designing as a personal hobby as well; it wasn't as though she was able to do much else in her spare time. The woman found inspiration on her many walks, admiring the fashions of the richer men and women of Ehrmich. She did her best to emulate their styles with what cheap fabrics she could find, and the more she practiced, the more confident she became in her skills. Though she never felt comfortable wearing the clothes herself, she loved creating garments. To Winny, the euphoria of finishing a piece was unmatched.

That was, until she met Lin Bellamy. 

After befriending Aria, Winny was given a wooden brooch and began visiting the abandoned underground city every Saturday night. She always told her parents that she was just going to “a little pub,” and stayed cagey whenever they asked questions. Each time Winny went underground, she took note of a particular woman who always sat alone at the bar.

The woman looked to be around Winny’s age, twenty-six or maybe a bit older. Winny had initially mistook her for a man because her light blonde hair was cut very short and styled handsomely. She was always dressed in a tight-fitting tank top and long, loose-fitting pants.

Aria grew tired of Winny’s longing stares. “Just go talk to her!” prompted the singer.

After consuming enough alcohol, Winny heeded Aria’s advice. Starting the conversation, Winny was nervous and clumsy, but the woman, Lin, made her feel comfortable and safe. Winny and Lin became inseparable when underground. During the weekdays above, the two women were always on each other's minds. Never before had either woman encountered someone so instantly attractive, easy to talk to, and intelligent.

One Saturday night, Winny decided that she wanted her hair cut short. The women found an available side room and Lin, who worked as a hair stylist on the surface, sat Winny down, pulled out her scissors, and got to work.

“How short do you want it?” asked Lin.

“Not as short as yours,” answered Winny. “I don’t want my parents getting _too_ worried.”

“You got it,” Lin said, beginning to trim the first strands.

“You’re so lucky you live on your own.”

“It can be lonely, but yeah, the autonomy kind of outweighs that.”

“I’m so jealous,” Winny admitted. “It’s kind of a bad trait of mine.”

“I love all your traits, even the bad ones.”

“God, you’re such a lady-killer,” teased Winny.

“I would _never_ kill a lady. A man, though...well, we’ll see what happens.”

The two women shared a mischievous chuckle.

“I honestly wouldn’t have pinned you as a person prone to jealousy,” continued Lin.

“Well, there have only been a few times that it’s become a serious problem.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Winny thought back. “Well...okay it’s a long story, but basically I was saved by a trainee in the Cadet Corps when I lived in Trost. She was so incredible and so young and I felt so old and unaccomplished next to her.”

“I get that,” empathized Lin, “some of those military kids are insane.”

“Right? But there was another reason that this particular person stuck out to me…”

“Go on.”

“She had deep black eyes and black hair.”

“...So? Black hair isn’t that uncommon.”

“No, no, no. There’s dark _brown_ that looks _almost_ black, and then there’s black like coal. What I’m saying is, she looked really different from other people I’ve seen. I got so curious about it. I even started asking the Military Police about her.”

“That’s drastic,” admitted Lin.

“I know! I’m crazy. But maybe not! ‘Cause I ended up finding out that she’s a member of an entirely different ‘race.’ That’s why she looks so different from us!”

“Oh, yeah, I think I’ve heard about this somewhere...that’s pretty interesting.” Lin had started working her way to the other side of Winny’s head.

“On its own it’s like ‘oh, that’s a fun fact,’ but it got me thinking more about the world. You know how there are, like, tons of different plants and insects? How come there’s only us and one other race?”

Lin paused and thought a moment about what Winny was implying. “You mean why do most people have brown and blond hair instead of other colours?”

“Sure, but it goes beyond hair colour! What if people had different hair textures, or different skin colours, or different ways of looking human entirely? How can there be so many types of plants and insects and only one kind of human? The existence of Mikasa Ackerman suggests that there _isn’t_ just one way of looking human.”

“I see your point,” said Lin. “I guess there may have been more ‘races’ at some point in time, but they all went extinct for one reason or another.”

“Or,” began Winny, “they were never in these Walls to begin with.”

“That’s certainly food for thought,” said Lin, “but I’m sure if there were people beyond the walls, they would be Titan food by now.”

“Probably…”

“What do you think?” Lin asked, bringing Winny to a mirror.

Short hair was certainly a change, but Winny liked the feeling of the open air on the back of her neck. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Lin.

There was a kind of tension between the two women and both of them felt it. Winny leaned her head closer to the taller woman’s.

“Listen, Winny,” said Lin, pulling away, “I have to tell you something.”

After Lin left The Underground for good, Aria comfortingly stroked Winny’s head as she cried and cried. 

“It isn’t fair!” sobbed Winny. “Why did Lin have to move to Yarckel District?! Why did she leave me alone?!”

“My poor Winny,” said Aria, softly. “I’m here for you.”

The move, of course, had been in the works before Lin and Winny had even met. Winny desperately wanted to go with the blonde woman, to leave her parents’ bakery behind and start a new life in Yarckel with the love of her life. But she had a responsibility to her family and no money to fund a journey to the western district. 

Winny, more than ever, felt that the world was an exceptionally cruel place.

It pained Aria to watch Winny grow bitter. The once sweet, selfless young woman became more snappy and irritable as time went on. Aria, never one to give up on her friends, tried to bring Winny a shred of hope.

“Winny, darling,” began Aria one night, “you know about the competitions here, yes? We tend to downplay the amount of prize money that goes to the winner since nobody wants to seem greedy.”

“What are you getting at?” asked Winny, tiredly

“Well, I’m saying that the prize money would be at least enough for a quick trip to Yarckel.”

Winny twitched slightly. “Aria,” she began, “I am going to make you the most gorgeous garment you’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Oh, goody!”

“And in exchange,” continued Winny, “you better win that competition.”

“For you, darling,” said Aria warmly, “I’ll keep trying for as long as it takes.”


	9. Meaning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An exploration of Rio's life prior to meeting Sylvan.

Rio Beckett hated talking to people. Rio Beckett hated feeling alone. Rio Beckett would be forced to talk with people if he wanted to curb his loneliness. What a conundrum!

As a young boy, Rio loved to ask questions: Who made the Walls? How did humanity get here? What are the Titans? Where do babies come from? Can two men have a baby? What does deviant mean? Why am I in trouble? What did I do wrong? When will dad stop hitting me?

Once Rio learned to stop asking questions, his life became a lot easier.

But he never stopped feeling inquisitive and it made him loathe conversation. People would speak to him and they would say such interesting or confusing things, but he never ever felt like it was his place to ask the questions that came to him. Every interaction with another person became an exercise in holding his tongue and so every interaction was dreadful.

Diantha Harlow  _ loved _ to talk. When she spoke, she spoke at length and with such vigor that people often struggled to escape the conversation. Everyone knew to steer clear of the little girl, to only ever talk to her if an escape route was prepared in advance. As such, conversation partners were hard to come by for poor Diantha, so she started to talk to herself. All the time. She’d narrate herself doing the laundry, or shopping with her mom, or eating soup. When she played with her dolls, she would have them talk for hours about every little thing. Diantha even talked in her sleep as a young girl!

Everyone got to know each other sooner or later in the small village near the Industrial City. When little Diantha met the young Rio, she was over the moon.  _ Finally _ , she thought,  _ someone who doesn’t complain when I talk to them _ . 

Rio, himself, was thrilled to find someone who seemed to answer all his questions before he even had the chance to ask them. He was content to just listen to Diantha all day while enjoying her company.

On a day when the village seemed to have more smog than usual, Diantha spoke to Rio:

“Do you think that birds know the difference between smog and fog? I bet that smog and fog rhyme because they look the same. I feel like birds can understand human language ‘cause one time I talked to a bird and it had this look in its eye like it knew what I was saying. That’s just how I feel, anyway. I wish I could fly like a bird. But even if I could, I don’t think I’d go too far without you, Rio! Gosh, birds, though. Really makes ya think. I wish we really  _ could _ talk to birds because then we could ask them what’s beyond the Walls. Rio, if you ever figure out how to talk to animals, don’t keep it a secret from me, kay? Let’s never keep secrets from each other ever. My mom says that there are a lot of secrets in this world, and that’s why science exists. She says that the Industrial City is killing the Earth and science just hasn’t figured it out yet, but I don’t really know what she means. But I do know that I love flowers, and don’t want them going anywhere. I want each and every flower to live a long and happy life. You’re like a flower to me, Rio! I want you to live a long and happy life too. My mom won’t tell me how long birds live ‘cause she thinks I’ll cry when I find out, but I’m tougher than I look! Have you ever seen me cry, Rio? Nuh-uh! Oh but I’m not saying that it’s bad to cry or anything. It’s probably really good for you ‘cause you’re getting rid of water you don’t need inside. Wait, if humans have water in them and water also falls from the sky, too, then...I don’t know what that means? Maybe not everything has a meaning! Silly goose! I think you’re my favourite person, Rio.”

Rio brought Diantha a flower the next day to show her that he was paying attention.

When she was ten years old, Diantha learned about the Scout Regiment. She learned that they soared through the sky using Omni-Directional Mobility gear, seeking out the truths of the world. At twelve years-old, Diantha went to speak with Rio, and for once in her life, she had surprisingly few things to say.

“I’m joining the Cadet Corps,” said Diantha one day out of the blue. “If we keep relying on more and more factories like this, eventually we’ll pollute all the air in the Walls. I need to join the Scouts and help secure humanity’s future.”

“But Di,” began Rio in protest, “even if the environment gets as bad as you think, it won’t happen for as long as we live! Why would you risk your life over something that won’t be a problem ‘til long after we’re gone?”

“I’ll never be satisfied if I live my life in complacency. I want to make sure that those who come after us will still have a place to call home.”

Rio could see that she was resolute. “What will I do without you?”

“Rio,” she began seriously, “you are so much stronger than you think. You can’t let your past define you, and you can’t let  _ me _ define you either. When I go, there will only be one thing you  _ can _ do: try your best. Survive. I’ll do the same, my love.”

After Diantha left their home village, Rio started working in the Industrial City. It was a massive metal juggernaut that inhaled minerals and exhaled fumes. Located in an undisclosed location between Wall Rose and Wall Sina, the city was a hub for the production of military equipment. Cannons, swords, Omni-Directional Mobility gear, you name it. If it was made of metal, it was made in the Industrial City.

A special mail service was set up to allow people to send letters to their loved ones working in the city without requiring an address. The post offices would set aside any letters addressed to the Industrial City and a military official would come to collect them at a later date. Rio and Diantha kept in touch all through her three years of military training. By the year 844, when she was fifteen, Diantha graduated from the 98th Cadet Corps and joined the Scout Regiment.

On the eve of the Colossal Titan’s attack on Shiganshina District, Diantha Harlow was heading back to the Walls on horseback along with the rest of the surviving Scouts. The 27th Exterior Scouting Mission had been a failure, and the regiment had failed to gather any useful information or expand their territory. It hadn’t helped that it was raining heavily the entire time, rendering visibility extremely low. Despite this, Diantha refused to give up. Though they had suffered heavy losses, she knew she would have to keep working hard so that her comrades' deaths would not be in vain.

As she thought this, Diantha and her squad were intercepted by an abnormal Titan. With the ground muddy and slippery from the rain, the group’s horses failed to react quickly enough and were unable to turn in time to avoid an encounter. 

Though the Titan made swift work of her comrades, Diantha continued to fight valiantly, soaring with determination like a bird caught in an untimely storm.

Until she, herself, was caught by the monster.

As the Titan tightened its grip around Diantha and slowly gnawed off her left arm, she started to lose all sense of feeling in her body. Helplessly, she did the one thing she knew how to do best: she talked.

She talked until she couldn’t anymore, about her life, her family, her dreams, Rio. Happy things that she thought might bring her a semblance of peace in the end. She wondered to herself if she’d done what she’d set out to do; had she secured a future for humanity? Had she contributed at all? Did her life mean something?

As the rain fell and shrouded her tears, Diantha spoke her last breath: “Maybe not everything has a meaning.”

Weeks later, Rio Beckett was notified by mail that Diantha Harlow was missing in action. The news didn’t settle inside him until he was smelting the ore that would be used to make new swords for the military. He looked up at a plume of smoke exiting a nearby chimney. By the end of the day, he had quit his job in the Industrial City.

Before Rio could leave for good, he had to sign an endless stack of documents, swearing that he wouldn’t share details about the military’s processes or the location of the Industrial City itself to any soul. Once that was over, he was lucky to have enough money to move to the closest district instead of moving back home. The only work available in Ehrmich at the time was a bartending job at a modest pub, and Rio found himself having to talk to more people than he’d ever wanted. 

Soon enough, though, he realized that the key to succeeding at the job was to ask a lot of questions. Over time and with practice, he became more and more comfortable prompting strangers to express their woes and triumphs. Rio finally became comfortable asking questions again, but with this newfound comfort came a strange desire: he wanted to be asked questions as well. He wanted to share details about his life, to give answers, to be heard. 

However, since nobody seemed to ever ask him anything, he took to answering questions that no one had ever asked.

Without realizing it, he would talk about Diantha, his greatest friend and greatest loss. He would gush about her all night long if people were willing to listen, about all of her ideas and quirks and charm. About how much he loved her and how much she loved him and how neither of them ever once doubted that fact.

Rio’s friend, a singer, told him that his sob stories were driving away customers. 

Rio tried to drink away memories of Diantha in the abandoned underground city. He’d always had an interest in men, and thanks to Aria, Rio had found a space to explore that side of himself safely. He started dressing promiscuously and drinking profusely, and for a while that was enough. He was happy to feel unlike himself every Saturday night, and the release he got from it made him feel strangely self-assured. He became charismatic and well-liked at the pub as a skilled conversationalist, and he took pride in that. Yet still, he felt empty. There was a void in his soul and he knew its name was Diantha, but he refused to acknowledge it.

Then one night, a bumbling man appeared at the bar with a forgotten shipment of beer, and Rio’s heart made itself known to his chest.

Seeing the man’s face was like arriving home after a long day. Looking into his hazel eyes was like tasting the sweetest honey. Admiring his handsome nose was like appreciating a shining steel ingot. Seeing his umber-coloured hair was like getting lost in an autumnal forest. And hearing his voice was like reuniting with an old friend.

The man had left with haste, which both amused and disappointed Rio, but he was thrilled to see him again on the subsequent Saturday. 

The man’s name was Sylvan. Rio absolutely glowed when he was around; Sylvan was quickly becoming the bartender’s favourite customer. 

“Have you ever been to the countryside?” asked Sylvan.

Rio was truly caught off guard. When was the last time  _ he’d _ been asked a question? He was so out of practice. 

“M-Me? No, not really. The villages around the Industrial City are less umm, what’s the word?” Rio tried to remember what word Diantha had used once when describing the Industrial villages, but the memories were so blocked out that he couldn’t recall. “Hmmm...no, I’ve lost it. But they don’t sound like what you’re describing, I think. Lots of smog and stuff if that makes sense.”

Rio was enjoying the conversation so much that he nearly forgot it was a Saturday night. As his shift came to an end, he bid his adieu to the messy-haired patron and set out for The Underground.

On the following Wednesday, something was off about Sylvan.

“How long has Neil been performing here?” Sylvan asked, nonchalantly taking a sip of his drink.

“As long as I’ve worked here,” said Rio. “It’s a real treat whenever he’s able to make an appearance. I’m sure if you keep coming around, he’ll show up again at some point. And even if he doesn’t, at least we’ll have our conversations to look forward to!”

_ Was that too flirty?  _ Rio thought to himself.  _ God, what am I doing? Idiot! _

Another patron took a seat at the bar, and Rio took notice, readying himself to help the next customer. 

“Hey, Rio,” interrupted Sylvan, “sorry, I know you gotta go in a sec, but I was just wondering: do you know what other jobs Neil does?”

_ Wait, does Sylvan like Aria more than me? Am I not his type? _

“Nope, I’m not sure!”

“Maybe he does some work in the older part of town?” Sylvan continued. “Possibly, like, underground or something?”

That was oddly specific. Why would Sylvan ask about underground? Rio grew extremely suspicious of Sylvan.

_ What if he’s an undercover MP? I can’t give him any information about The Underground. _

“I told you already,” Rio said, changing his tone, “I don’t know. Please excuse me, I have other patrons to attend to.”

After his shift ended, Rio rushed over to Aria’s place to warn her about Sylvan.

“I thought I felt someone watching me the other night,” said Aria. “Perhaps young Mr. Sylvan was tailing me. Do you think he has the hots for little ol’ me?!”

“Aria, please take this seriously! The whole community could be in danger. We can’t lose The Underground, it’s our home!”

“You don’t have to tell me that, Rio. I’m well aware of The Underground’s importance to the community,” said Aria knowingly. “But I just don’t think that Sylvan is an undercover officer.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Aria didn’t want to tell Rio about her involvement, about how she’d left behind a beer shipment to allow Sylvan the opportunity to come to the pub in the first place. It would ruin the magic. “Tell you what,” began Aria, “I’ll figure out a time and place to interrogate him. After that, I’ll decide whether or not I’ll invite him to The Underground.”

“WHAT? But what if he  _ is _ an MP? You’ll lead him right to us!”

“Rio, sweetie, I am  _ very _ good at sussing out deviants. I was even able to see through you, after all.”

Rio couldn’t argue with that. 

The following Saturday, Rio was happy to see that Sylvan looked confused upon arriving at The Underground. If he really had been an officer, he would have looked disgusted rather than confused. Sylvan was dressed in an aggressively normal outfit, and Rio found it charming how out of place the younger man seemed to be.

Rio found it even more charming when Sylvan later came to him for fashion advice. As Sylvan stepped into his apartment, Rio felt his heart flutter a bit. As he gathered all of his Underground clothes from his closet, Rio looked back at Sylvan, who was examining the bookshelf by his bed. The sight of Sylvan next to his bed filled Rio with an intense lust, but he controlled his desire and focused on making sure that Sylvan had a good night. He wanted Sylvan to feel confident, even sexy. And of course, Rio wanted Sylvan to think that he was confident and sexy too, so Rio chose his outfit strategically, making sure that his chest muscles would be visible all night.

As Rio led Sylvan down the shadowy staircase to The Underground, he wanted so badly to kiss him. They were perfectly alone, away from prying eyes, concealed by darkness. As they walked, Rio turned to check on Sylvan, carrying a lantern that enveloped their faces in a warm glow. Rio smiled softly and wondered if he should ask for a kiss, but then decided against it. 

The void in his soul wouldn’t allow him to make a move. Even still, Rio hoped that one day he would have a full heart with which to love Sylvan completely. Until then, he was content just being by his side.


End file.
